Chrysalis
by Em Mindelan
Summary: Jack. And a whole lot of angst.
1. What I Am

Hey everyone! 

I'm not sure exactly how to define this story. It has two "chapters" written right now, but what it basically is is two one-parters that are sort of linked by the fact that both are Jack POV and contain a heck of a lot of angst about a lot of stuff, but mainly about Irina/Laura.

They both fall loosely under the title "Chrysalis"....

Anyway, on with the angst, but first some stuff to get out of the way...

TIME PERIOD - "What I Am" is set any time after "The Enemy Walks In" but before "A Dark Turn"; "Betrayal is a Familar Tune" is set after "A Dark Turn" and in a slightly AU universe where "Truth Takes Time" hasn't occured yet [and where there was no passive transmitter]. 

RATING - PG/PG-13 to be on the safe side

SUMMARY - Jack. And a whole lot of angst.

DISCLAIMER - I don't own Alias, or any of its characters.

**Chrysalis**

_What I Am_

Love. Family. Honor. Duty. 

These words I defined my life by, once. 

A loving wife. A beautiful baby daughter. A loyal agent. An honorable man.

My wife killed men and betrayed my country. My wife was a traitor and a spy, and then a criminal mastermind. My daughter kills men and wants revenge and a normal life. My daughter is a spy, a double agent. 

My wife never truly loved me. My daughter despises me for lying to her about her childhood, her mother and about my - and her job.

I? I am a traitor to my country and to my once-best friend. I turned twice. Turned against my country and then back. I am a dishonest, ruthless man, I will freely admit that. Because in my profession, that's what it takes to survive. I am a killer. A spy. A double agent.  

I loved my wife. She died. I mourned her inside a prison cell. 

My wife is dead. Laura is dead. Irina is not Laura. That is the mantra that I chant every time I see her. And it's true, Irina is not Laura. Irina is cool where Laura was warm. Cold where Laura was red-hot. But brilliant like Laura was. Beautiful like my dead wife. We're still technically married, you know. I can't bring myself to file for divorce. 

Every time I see her, I die a little inside. I remember the honorable man I once was, and deep down, somewhere inside me, the Jack Bristow that I was screams to get out. He is naïve. Like my daughter's "friend", Mr. Vaughn. There are certain distasteful and immoral, unethical things which must be done in this world. I am the man that does them. 

Jack-that-was was a good man. Too good for his own good, in a way. Too trusting, too loving, too blind. Jack-that-was died when Laura did. They died as they lived…perhaps they are somewhere now together? Perhaps inside Irina, Laura is fighting to get out like Jack-that-was is? That's both a comforting and a disturbing thought. But maybe somewhere, sometime, those two good people can be together as they are forever separated in the here and now, separated by the past and the present and the future and by the things we will never say…the things we can never say.

Jack-that-was had morals. Ethics. A promising future. He had a family. Friends. Colleagues he did not have to lie to. Jack-that-was is dead now. I am Jack. I am a killer. I betray my friends [that's right, Arvin…]. Lie to my colleagues. My daughter despises me taking away her choices in life. And that's right, I did, Sydney. I saw your talents. And I exploited them. I programmed you to serve your country. Because there are people out there who want to kill us. And the more people with your skills and talents there are serving our country, the safer your friends are. I loved my daughter. I saw her talents and exploited them to serve my interests and those of my country. In doing this, I earned her hatred. 

She thinks of a normal life. By doing what she does, she preserves the normal life of millions of others. I hate what I did to her, but know that it needed to be done, that the world is safer with her doing the job that she does.

Or am I simply trying to defend the indefensible? 


	2. Betrayal is a Familiar Tune

_Betrayal is a Familiar Tune_

You'd think that after being betrayed so many times, one would become accustomed to it, develop an immunity to it.

But it only seems to hurt more.

Laura. Irina. My wife. My partner in love and war. 

I tried to see her as just another CIA prisoner, just another enemy of the state. But every time I look at her, I see my past, my present and my future. She haunts me everywhere I go. I see all the things which I thought I had left behind forever. 

Toasters used to be just another household appliance; I had almost forgotten that…let's just say, memorable week at the "hotel with the sundaes", as my daughter calls it. The sight of her dredges up the pleasant memories of the man I used to be. These memories make me weak; they make me susceptible to her charms…a dangerous thing, given our past. 

Last night I gave into those memories. Last night I gave into the need I have had since I saw her again. Last night, I removed a tracking device from a prisoner's shoulder, and I slept with my wife. 

She's not my wife, though, is she? My wife was Laura Bristow. The woman who until so very recently occupied Cell #7447 of the CIA office in Los Angeles is Irina Derevko. She is Laura. And she isn't. 

She is Laura, and Irina, and everything in between and I hate her and I love her, and I trusted her, and she betrayed me, and she came back and I gave into her again, let myself care for her again, and she betrayed me. 

I wanted to trust her, but knew I couldn't. So instead, I made it look like she tried to kill our daughter. She would have died for that, if my daughter's adoring "handler" hadn't interfered. Her death would have made everything so much simpler. It would have been much less messy. I could have gone back to my life of ignoring Jack-that-was, and I could have done my job. 

She cooperated fully. She got us everything we asked for. I began to let myself care for her again…began to see how not only she was Laura, but how she was an equal to me in a way Laura never could have been. She was enigmatic, beautiful, intelligent, and talented. Everything my wife was and more. Slowly I began to become fascinated by her. In Kashmir, I fell in love with her.

We spent one night together, in a little hotel room in Panama, before she went off to help us bring down my former friend and boss, one Mr. Arvin Sloane. Or so we thought. 

She betrayed us again. She stole the Rambaldi manuscript…for what reason, I have no idea. I cannot begin to comprehend her fascination with Rambaldi. Sloane wants to live forever, I know. Irina….what does she want? I lived with her for ten years. And then she "died" and my bubble burst forever. Everything I knew about her went up in smoke.  And yet she is almost exactly as I remembered…I still love her, you know. Every inch of me aches for her as much as I did the day we were married. I never stopped loving her, even when I hated her. I never, ever stopped loving Laura, even while I hated Irina. And I still do hate her…or part of me does. The other part of me sees the part of her which is Laura and loves her and wants her and wants a normal life again. That other part me is dangerous, a little ghost of Jack-that-was. Weak. Human.


	3. Mockingbirds

This is a lot longer than the other two pieces....and is titled "Mockingbirds". You can read this either second or third...chronologically it takes place before "Betrayal is a Familiar Tune".  
  
Feedback is always much appreciated!  
  
DEDICATION - To all the wonderful reviewers here. I've read so much of _your_ wonderful fic to realise exactly how inadequate this is compared to your work. So, thankyou for humouring this girl playing in someone's else's world.  
TIMELIME - Set immediately after the end of "The Enemy Walks In" [which I haven't seen, but apparently will be in June! *does happy dance*]__

_Mockingbirds_

It has been twenty four years, six months, and forty seven days, since I last saw my wife.

Twenty minutes ago I received a phone call informing me that Devlin had had a walk-in. 

My wife is here. She sits in front of me. We are separated only by a sheet of glass.

She sits there on the floor of her cell mocking me. 

She looks like a teacher, a literature professor. She looks normal. Sweet. The person you would never suspect, the one you would never give a second glance.  Like the woman she was when she died. Like my wife.

In my profession, we are taught that they are the most dangerous of the lot. I never realized exactly how true that was until the day I learnt the truth about the woman I had loved…the woman I had _married. The woman I had had a daughter with. _

I spend my life looking for traitors, for enemies of my country, and bringing them to justice. I trained for years in how to find and destroy my enemies. 

And yet I loved one. She was there under my nose for all those years…

_She must have thought I was an idiot…or at very least blinded by love. _

She sits on the floor quite calmly, not moving a muscle. Staring blankly ahead, a calm, almost passive expression on her face. A mask, like the one she wore so many years ago as my wife. 

Laura was never passive though. Energetic, beautiful, strong, graceful, delightful, angry, passionate, controlled, sad, happy….all these things, yes…but never passive. She played her part well, I will grant her that. She is by far the most gifted woman I have ever met – including our daughter…Sydney is extremely talented, but lacks the ability to maintain a cover for years on end like "Laura" did. Professionally speaking, the ability to maintain a deep cover like Derevko did is rare enough – the ability to maintain it to the level that she did…well, it's enough to give you quite a reputation in this business. 

I suppose it should be some small consolation to realize that at least I was fooled by the best. She played her role well. I never once suspected her, did you know that? Never once. We were married for eight years, give or take a few months. And never once did I doubt her, suspect her questions about my work were anything but simple curiosity or concern for me. Poor love-struck Jack-that-was, I suppose. Her superiors must have laughed at my naivety…_she _must have laughed at my naivety. 

I remember the first time I met her. It was yesterday, and it was a million years ago. Some things change…but I never forget, no matter how hard I might try, no matter how hard I try to shove my memories of her into the smallest, darkest crevice of my mind. 

_I was in a small bookstore somewhere in LA…the bookstore is long gone, and the beautiful little antique shopping district where it was located was long ago replaced by a big mall. _

_I was browsing in the classics section…looking for a new copy of To Kill A Mockingbird__, if I remember correctly. A tree branch had broken a window in a rare storm, letting in torrential rain and soaking my book completely. _

_I couldn't find the book anywhere. Exasperated, I had turned to leave when a rather striking young woman had walked up behind me and handed me the last copy that the store had. I wondered out loud how she had known I was looking for it…she simply laughed softly and told me that I had been muttering the title rather loudly. I was quite embarrassed at this, I recall. You see, I was never the most confident of men with women…especially not those as beautiful as Laura was. She took pity on me and introduced herself._

"I'm Laura Young. And you're a fan of Harper Lee, I take it?" _She offered her hand. I stared blankly for a few seconds before accepting it and shaking it lightly. _

"Ah, yes. Jack Bristow. Pleased to meet you, Laura. My old copy got soaked in that storm recently and I…"_ I started to ramble a little, before she laughed again, and this time I noticed how musical her laugh was. I had turned red from embarrassment, she told me later._

"Well, Jack, I'm actually just about to have a cup of coffee. Would you care to join me? I hate to sit alone." 

_Well, how could I refuse such a lovely lady's invitation? I said as much, and followed her to a small table [that's right…I remember now the reason I frequented that store so much…its owner was a fantastic cook, and made incredible coffee] outside the store. _

_It was a bright, clear, fine day, a very unusual LA day. It was a beautiful day, the sun shone brightly, and I was having coffee with the most beautiful woman I had ever met. What more could a man want?  _

_The owner, a Mr. Martov, rushed over to our table and took our order – she took her coffee black, no cream or sugar. A very Russian trait, now that I think back upon it. I must have been so…intoxicated by her presence, even then, that I ignored the little things that must have been so glaringly obvious to others. I wonder now perhaps how much of our chance meeting was chance, and how much a carefully orchestrated ploy. Mr. Martov, I've long since come to the conclusion, was a KGB operative. The bookstore located so close to my apartment, a setup. The destruction of my book? Well, that might_ have been a coincidence. __

_As we sipped our coffee, we talked – first of the weather, as strangers are prone to do, then of the neighbourhood_ [she lived three blocks from my building, I learnt], and then of books. She was a post-grad literature student, and Oscar Wilde was one of her favourite___ authors. _

_We sat and talked for hours. I learnt the name of her dog [Darcy, after the Pride and Prejudice character]; _I learnt that she was originally from ___Wisconsin__ and that she loved the cold and hated the heat; I learnt that she was an only child and that her parents had died two years ago in a plane crash. I told her that I worked for the government [just boring stuff, though]; I told her I'd never been in love, and I told her that I preferred reading to watching television. I told her that I had a degree in politics and international relations, and that I had nearly chosen a degree in engineering over politics, but had been sucked in by the promise of serving my country. I told her that I liked classical music, especially Gabriel Faure, but also the Beatles. I only realized many years later that the odds were that she knew my past better than I knew it._

_It was nearly four hours later when she announced that she had to meet some friends for a friend's birthday party. I asked if maybe we could catch the local production of To Kill A Mockingbird __together sometime. _

_"I'd be delighted, Jack__. Here's my number,_"_ __she replied, tearing a corner of her napkin off and scribbling a number with a pen fished from her backpack. And like that, she was off. _

_I just stared numbly. She was graceful, witty, beautiful, intelligent…but she had an indescribable quality that surpassed physical beauty. She was…she had charisma._ I was drawn to her like moths are drawn to a lamp – hopelessly entrapped by the light, even as it lures them unknowingly to their doom.__

_I was hooked, sunk and captured. I just didn't know it yet. _

They say that a man's life can be condensed into a few, crucial, pivotal moments. What if your life was one moment? One decision? One chance conversation that led to something more? In that one moment, that one conversation with the woman I would love more than life itself, my life was changed forever. That one conversation was enough to convince Jack-that-was that he had just met the woman who he wanted to marry. Oh, yes, she played her part _very_ well. Anyone who says that a man cannot be forced to fall in love has clearly never met Irina Devreko. Although "forced" is perhaps a misleading term. Jack-that-was went along like a lamb. He was a perfectly happy victim…and it was a very pleasant ride. 

But in the end, when she left, she had achieved her mission – she had killed 12 CIA agents, including the father of my daughter's handler. She had sabotaged, directly or indirectly, a countless number of missions. And she had achieved just a little more without even knowing it. She had taken a naïve, good man, and by the time she was finished with him, he was a killer. Once Jack-that-was had been put through the entire spectrum of emotions – love, grief, sorrow, anger, hate, betrayal, rage, hate, hate, hate, hate…always the hate…he was a different man. That different man was me.

_I was trapped by her from the first moment I met her. She has always had a certain power over me. She has always been my weakness. _

I watch her still. She hasn't moved in all the time I have been standing here. She mocks me in her silence. 

_The mockingbird sings sweetly, and asks for nothing, but in the end is turned upon and destroyed. _

 We are both mockingbirds, in a way…she sang sweetly, and I asked for nothing, except her hand in marriage. She turned on me once, and destroyed me. Now I am in the ascendancy. I have the power, for once in our lives. She was always the dominant one with Jack-that-was. She has never met the Jack that she created. Now I have the power…and the question is, what do I do with it?

_How will the mockingbirds sing tonight? _

_What will they sing, and who will be destroyed on this night?_

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I know it's a bit weird...it's both my favourite and my least favourite of all three pieces...my favourite because it was so easy to write...but my least favourite because I'm not entirely sure how much of the ending makes sense.   
  
PLEASE read and review! Feedback rocks my world - both good and bad [as long as it's constructive], cause I'd like to know how to improve my writing.


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